Love in the Rain

By Naguib Mahfouz and Nancy Roberts

A vibrant novel of memorable characters who search for happiness and true love, cope with the bitterness that results from love's betrayal, and embrace new beginnings.

Set in Cairo in the aftermath of the Six-Day War of 1967, Love in the Rain introduces us to an assortment of characters who, each in his or her own way, experience the effects of this calamitous event. The war and its casualties, as well as people's foibles and the tragedies they create for themselves, raise existential questions that cannot easily be answered.

In a frank, sensitive treatment of everything from patriotism to prostitution, homosexuality and lesbianism, Love in the Rain presents a struggle between "old" and "new" in the realm of moral values that leaves the future in doubt. Through the dilemmas and heartbreaks faced by his protagonists, Mahfouz exposes the hypocrisy of those who condemn any breach of sexual morality while turning a blind eye to violence, corruption, and oppression, double standards as applied to men's and women's sexuality, and the folly of an exclusive focus on sexual morals without reference to other aspects of human character.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The American University in Cairo Press
• Release date: Mar 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781617973192

Naguib Mahfouz

Naguib Mahfouz was born in Cairo in 1911 and began writing when he was seventeen. His nearly forty novels and hundreds of short stories range from re-imaginings of ancient myths to subtle commentaries on contemporary Egyptian politics and culture. In 1988, he was the first writer in Arabic to be awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. He died in August 2006.

Book preview

1

Surrounded by an uninterrupted stream of people colliding with one another from all directions and a medley of sounds coming from high and low—a raucous collage of all the colors of the rainbow—the two of them walked along side by side without saying a word. She was clad in a short brown dress, her black hair flowing loosely about her head and down over her brow. As for him, he sported a blue shirt and gray trousers, his hair combed neatly to the right. Her eyes were honey-colored and inquisitive, and his, slightly protruding, which perfectly complemented his straight, pointed nose. As she gave herself over to the walk, he bided his time, waiting for an opportunity.

The crowd’s unbearable, he said.

But it’s amusing, she murmured with a smile.

He took her reply as a charming maneuver, nothing more. In fact, it seemed like a response to the desire of his heart. Gesturing with his muscular arm in the direction of the Haroun al-Rashid Café, he found her turning to go there with him without hesitation. They made their way to the garden behind the restaurant, where they chose a semi-secluded seat under a trellis of English ivy. They looked around at the place, then at each other. Though he voiced no complaint, he felt somewhat oppressed by the muggy heat.

As he ordered two glasses of lemonade, he was dying to talk about what was on his mind. However, he said to himself: Let the words come on their own, and in their own time. Surely that’s better.

The days we spent at the university seem like a dream now …, he said.

Completing his sentence, she added, … with its joys and sorrows.

It’ll only be a few months now before we both start our jobs.

She nodded in agreement, then wondered aloud, But where’s the world headed?

This was the question that confronted him, always and everywhere. Where indeed? Would it be war, or peace? And the flood of rumors?

Let it head wherever it wants to.

They drank lemonade until they had tears in their eyes.

How’s your brother Ibrahim? he asked.

He’s fine. He doesn’t write much, but he comes home from the front once a month.

Then, as though she wanted to make excuses for him, she said, Marzouq, if you weren’t an only child, you would have been drafted just like him.

He made no comment, and together they gave themselves over to the silence. Feeling another urge to talk about what was on his mind, he said with a laugh, We shouldn’t try to make our tryst look so innocent!

So, then, she replied with a playful look in her eyes, "our tryst is an innocent one!"

Reverting to a serious tone, he said, I mean the subject my sister Saniya spoke to you about.

You’ve had your share of girlfriends, to my knowledge, she replied warily.

Even more serious now, he continued, We often act out of a need for diversion. But there comes a time when nothing will satisfy us but true love.

True love?

That’s exactly what I mean, Aliyat.

After some hesitation, she asked, Don’t you think it’s too early for you to get married?

That’s what the older generation says, he replied contemptuously. But time’s of no importance as long as we’re in control of our fates.

Sounding concerned, she asked, Are you sure of your feelings?

He gazed at her affectionately and said, One of my main faults is that I’m not good at expressing my feelings. How many times have we met? Even so, I’ve never once complimented you on your beauty or your sophistication.

She made no reply.

Why don’t you say anything? he asked fervently.

I don’t know, she said with a sigh. I guess I’m afraid.

The truth is, he said tenderly, I love you more than anything in the world.

That’s better, she murmured with a smile.

He laughed happily.

And I’ve got something even nicer to tell you.

The fact is, she admitted, I haven’t been a passive observer of the battle, and you know that.

Elated now, he said, Consider me mad about you!

Lowering her eyes, she whispered, And I’m happy, since I feel the same way about you.

Flooded with joy and inspiration, he said, I would rather have experienced this happiness in a place where we could be alone, just the two of us.

The two of them laughed together, then fell silent as their eyes met. He suggested that they go to a park.

As they got up to leave, she said, Don’t forget that there will be troubles along the way!

2

It was midnight, and the Inshirah coffeeshop on Sheikh Qamar Street had no more customers. The only employees still around were the waiter, Amm Abduh Badran, and Ashmawi the shoe shiner. Ponderous and lethargic, Ashmawi ambled outside and squatted next to the coffeeshop entrance, where he sat on his heels staring, bleary-eyed, at nothing in particular. As for Amm Abduh, he sat down on a chair in the middle of the entrance and lit a cigarette. Fifteen minutes later a white Mercedes passed the coffeeshop, then stopped at a nearby curb.

Ashmawi looked up and said, It’s Husni Higgawi.

Amm Abduh rose to receive the newcomer. Clad in a white suit and the picture of elegance, he sauntered toward them with his tall, lean physique and his massive head. He greeted both men by name, then took his seat. Meanwhile, Amm Abduh went to get the shisha and Ashmawi scooted up next to him to shine his shoes. Since Husni Higgawi was the only customer who came after midnight—whenever he had the time—he and the two elderly men had exchanged many a conversation, and an intimate bond of sorts had developed between them.

Amm Abduh was sixty years old, and if the truth be told, Husni Higgawi was taken by the man’s dignified bearing, his aging waiter’s uniform, the reddish round bald spot on his head, and the heavy but kind look in his eyes. He’d also taken a liking to Ashmawi, whose age no one knew, but which he estimated at somewhere between seventy and eighty. He was moved by the sight of Ashmawi’s huge, languid figure as though it were a living relic from his days as the neighborhood thug. He had great respect for the man’s endurance on life’s battlefield despite failing health, diminished hearing and sight, and the loss of the glory he’d once known.

Amm Abduh devoted special care to Husni Higgawi’s shisha, not only on account of the tip he would get in return, but also because he knew it was the secret behind his visits to the Inshirah coffeeshop. Another reason Husni Higgawi frequented the place was his nostalgia for Sheikh Qamar Street, the place where he’d been born. He was fifty years old, yet he exuded a remarkable vitality and had yet to sprout a single gray hair. He seemed genuinely to enjoy his time at the humble coffeeshop with his two comrades and his long tête-à-têtes with the shisha. The conversation started off as usual with the fighting on the front, questions about the near and distant future, and tactfully worded inquiries about the well-being of Amm Abduh’s son Ibrahim and other young men from Darb al-Hilla, Ashmawi’s hometown, who’d been drafted into the war. Husni Higgawi saw Ashmawi as typical of the masses with whom he would otherwise have no dealings and who were sincerely keen to fight—unconditionally, fearlessly, and without a thought for the consequences. He thought to himself: After all, what do they have to fear, when all they have to their names is dignity and a fairy tale? Then he thought: The people who are really suffering are the true patriots.

When Ashmawi had finished shining Husni Higgawi’s shoes, Amm Abduh came up to where he was sitting and, leaning toward him slightly, said, My daughter Aliyat has been proposed to by a young man who studied with her.

Congratulations, Amm Abduh! he replied with genuine interest.

In a tone that was pleased but subdued, Amm Abduh replied, It’s good for a girl to get married. But like her, the groom doesn’t have a job yet.

That’s the way things go these days.

I’m strapped with heavy financial burdens, and as you know, the only one of my sons who’s finished his education has been drafted.

Husni Higgawi rejoined with confidence, Your daughter is educated, and she’s aware of all these things. So, what do they say about the groom?

He’s broke! the man replied bitterly. His father’s in the same boat as I am, a clerk at some commercial establishment.

Has his son been drafted?

He’s exempt because he’s their only son. The rest of his children are girls. One of them is a classmate and close friend of Aliyat’s. Husni Higgawi savored a long puff on the shisha and thought to himself: The good-hearted waiter is also living a fairy tale. The truth could crush him. Our morals are an illusion. They’re based on nothing but profit.

Then he said to Amm Abduh, There are some shrewd girls who prefer to marry a well-to-do middle-aged man as a way of finding stability in life.

I don’t know, the man said, shaking his head in bewilderment.

In any case, your daughter isn’t one of them.

God be with her!

Amen! Husni Higgawi replied, concealing a sardonic smile.

Then, with sudden enthusiasm, Amm Abduh said, Aliyat is an ambitious girl. She worked to bring in an income even when she was a student. She made so much money from translation, she was able to dress in a way that suits university life even though I couldn’t provide any of that for her.

She’s a real go-getter.

But has she saved enough to be able to furnish even a single room?

That’s the question.

For her, that type of thing doesn’t even matter.

It’s a generation that deserves to be commended! Husni Higgawi replied with a chuckle. His thoughts wandered to his elegant apartment on Sherif Street and he said to himself: The real struggle in this life is between facts and fairy tales.

Haven’t you ever thought of getting married, sir? queried Amm Abduh.

Never. Then, pointing at him warningly with his forefinger, he added, And I’ve never regretted it!

He recalled how, during a brief news report at the studio, a journalist had asked him and a number of other people working on the film about their philosophy of life. He also remembered how, when he’d been asked the question, he’d gone pale and not been able to come up with an answer.

So then, did he really not have

Reviews for Love in the Rain

[Michael Kurutz · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A groundbreaking novel set in post-1967 Cairo highlighting the malaise and directionlessness of Egypt's upper classes in the aftermath of the Naksa (Nasser's defeat at the hands of the Israelis). One of the few novels in Egyptian and Arabic literature that addresses women's sexuality, military enlistment, alcohol, pornography, and the roles of both religion and the state. The contradictions, betrayals, and nihilistic driftings of Mahfouz's characters showed how the conflict laid waste to the institutions and beliefs of a generation and removed the barriers to religious conservativism that have buffeted Egyptian society to the present day.